


Pale Night (Caught Remix)

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: Charles is an omega prince promised to a faraway king. Erik is an alpha, and a lowborn squire.This could only ever end in disaster.





	Pale Night (Caught Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Drabble Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968945) by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem). 
  * In response to a prompt by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem) in the [xmen_remix_madness2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2017) collection. 



> I read chapter 12 of turtletotem's drabble collection and absolutely _had_ to write something for it. Please read it first -- it'll give this context, and besides, turtle's writing is absolutely gorgeous. Turtle, I wanted to write a series of firsts that would fill in the scenes around your marvelous, beautiful drabbles. I hope you like it!
> 
> MANY THANKS to _____ for all her hard work cheering me on and helping me out in this fic <33

I

_first sight_

The boy was beautiful. He was slim and short and leanly muscled, with bright, sea-blue eyes and tousled brown hair that Erik wanted to push his fingers into. He stood on the other side of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone wall behind him as he spoke to a girl who looked a few years older than he was. As Erik watched, the girl said something that made the boy laugh; he threw back his head, the sound of his amusement echoing across the near-empty courtyard.

“Don’t,” Alex said.

Erik dragged his attention back to the saddle he’d been in the middle of polishing. “Don’t what?”

“I see the way you’re looking at him. Don’t bother.”

“Why not?”

Alex shot him an incredulous look. “Don’t you know that’s the prince?”

“ _That’s_ the prince?” Somehow Erik had pictured him older, more tight-laced, as dull and stuffy as all the other nobles Erik had encountered so far. He hadn’t imagined him so young. So…vibrant.

Alex nodded, leaning over to inspect the bridle he was mending. “That’s him.”

The two of them sat with their backs to the stables, shaded from the sun by the roof overhead. Here, they were mostly hidden from view from the rest of the courtyard. Erik chanced another look over to where the prince and his companion stood. “Charles, isn’t it? Charles Xavier?”

“It’s _His Royal Highness_ to you,” Alex huffed. “Don’t get any ideas. He’s promised to some king.”

“Which one?”

“How should I know? Some king from the southern isles.”

“Hmm,” Erik said. He let his eye wander over to the prince again, admiring the way the boy filled out his riding trousers. He had nice, strong thighs. 

Alex punched his arm. “I’m serious. Do you have any idea how fucked you’d be if you tried anything with him?”

Erik shoved irritably at his shoulder. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Right.” Alex scrubbed at a spot of dirt on the brass buckles of the bridle. “Just stay away from him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Erik said again.

But he couldn’t help but glance over one more time to where the prince stood, wreathed in sunlight.

He was beautiful.

 

II

_first meeting_

One hot summer night, Erik couldn’t sleep. He lay restlessly in bed for hours until finally he gave up and pulled on his clothes. Better to get an early start on the day than continue tossing and turning until dawn.

It was a dark night, nearly moonless. There was hardly any breeze at all to alleviate the humid heat, so by the time Erik reached the stables, he was sticky with sweat. Grimacing, he wiped his face on his sleeve and was just about to unlatch the doors when he heard someone moving in the shadows to his left.

He stopped and cocked his head, listening. There — quiet footsteps scuffing through the dirt. Probably a stable boy or some squire sneaking back after a night spent carousing in town, Erik thought. He started to turn away, then heard a soft, high-pitched squeak.

Frowning, he squinted into the darkness. “Who’s that?”

The figure in the shadows froze. For a moment, neither of them moved, holding their breaths. Then another muffled squeak broke the silence, and the stranger stepped forward into the dim moonlight, holding up one hand in tacit surrender.

It was the prince, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t expecting anyone would be out at this time.”

Erik stared at him, speechless. The prince. The prince was _here_ , right in front of him, close enough to touch. Why? What could he possibly be doing out here so late, and without his usual guard? He couldn’t be sneaking out, could he? Or running away?

Try as he might, Erik couldn’t make sense of it, the sight of the prince standing there in the middle of the empty stable yard in the dead of night. After an eternity, he found his voice again and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He winced as soon as the words left his mouth — so much for tact. But the prince didn’t seem offended, only a little wary and, underneath that, faintly amused. He came a little closer, peered as Erik, and said slowly, “You’re Lady Kinross’s squire, aren’t you? Erik Lehnsherr.”

Erik went still. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen you around before. You’re new. I noticed.” The prince smiled. “I watch the squires spar sometimes in the training yard. You’re very good.”

Erik was glad it was dark so the prince couldn’t see his pleased flush. So the prince had noticed him, had he? “Thank you.”

“I’m Charles,” the prince offered after a moment.

“The prince,” Erik said. “Yes.”

“Ah.” The prince gave him an apologetic look. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

“How could I not? Everyone knows.”

“Yes,” the prince murmured, “I suppose they do.”

They fell silent for a long minute. Erik struggled to find something more to say, reluctant to let this strange, private moment between them end. He was keenly aware that this might be the only conversation he and the prince would ever share. This was possibly the closest they would ever be.

Then the bundle of cloth in the prince’s arms squirmed and squeaked, and the prince hurried to shush it, patting it gently.

“What is that?” Erik asked, staring guardedly at it.

The prince hesitated, then pulled one corner of the blanket down to reveal a small, furry face, nearly invisible in the moonless night.

Erik stepped closer, curious. “A dog?”

“A puppy. One of the kennel hounds.”

“What are you doing with it?”

“I don’t know.” The prince stroked the puppy’s ears. “We don’t have black hounds in the kennels. They’re considered bad luck. Black puppies are usually given away to be pets.”

“So it’s yours?”

“My stepbrother’s. Or it would’ve been anyway.” The prince grimaced. “Small animals have a habit of dying in his hands. I thought I’d try to find it a kinder home.”

Erik didn’t know much about Cain Marko, but from what he’d heard of the lordling, he wasn’t surprised. He reached out, scratched the pup’s chin, and asked, “What’s his name?” 

“Her. And I haven’t named her. She’s not mine, after all.”

“Why not?”

“My stepbrother would be furious if he knew I’d stolen her from him. Best if I didn’t keep her.” The prince hoisted her up a bit, his arm wrapped around her securely. “I’ve been keeping her in my rooms for now, but she’s going mad, cooped up in there. I was going to take her out for a bit tonight, let her run around.”

Erik glanced around. The yard had plenty of space to run around in, but it wasn’t very private. If anyone saw the prince with the puppy, they’d ask questions for sure.

“I know a place,” he said.

The prince cocked his head. “Where?”

Erik gestured for him to follow. “Come on.”

He led the prince out of the stable yard, through the inner courtyard, and into the smaller servants’ courtyard. They slipped through a narrow side street and came to a dead end.

“Cozy,” the prince remarked, glancing around at the dusty alley.  

Erik laughed. “Not this. Come on, it’s a bit of a climb. I’ll help you.” 

A stack of empty crates sat abandoned at the end of the street. Using these, one could easily reach the low roof of the servants’ quarters. Erik jumped onto the crates, grabbed the edge of the roof, and vaulted himself up onto it.

“Is that safe?” asked the prince, gazing up at him dubiously.

“Perfectly safe.” The roof tiles were firmly set, and the roof itself sloped at a gentle angle, making it an easy perch. Erik leaned down and held out his hands. “Give me the dog and you can climb up after.”

The prince gave him another long, doubtful look before stepping carefully onto the crates and handing the puppy up to Erik. The little ball of fluff twisted around in the blanket, nearly falling out, but Erik tightened his grip and shifted around until he had it cradled safely in the crook of his elbow. Then he started to reach down with his free hand to help the prince up, but before he could even offer his aid, the prince had pulled himself up onto the roof, a bit ungracefully but without much difficulty.

“Well,” he said, his eyes bright, “now what?”

“Just down here,” Erik said, pointing.

The dead end was, in fact, just a narrow stone wall that had been erected to wall off the area beyond it. According to Alex, almost no one came back here anymore, but it was a secret haven for the few people who knew about it. It wasn’t much, but it was private, hidden away from prying eyes.

Handing the dog back to the prince, Erik jumped off the roof. It was a bit of a drop, but the foliage underneath him cushioned his fall. After a bit of groping through the darkness, he found the crates stacked up on this side of the wall, climbed up on them, took the dog from the prince, and then urged him to jump down himself.

“Perhaps now is a bad time to mention I’m afraid of heights,” the prince said, looking down at Erik.

“It’s hardly even three yards.”

“It looks much further from here.”

“Just jump.” Erik set the puppy and its blanket down and came over to stand just beneath the prince’s dangling feet. “I’ll catch you.”

The prince was silent for a long moment. His face was shadowed, impossible to read. Erik wished the moon would come out, wished he had more light to see the prince by. He wanted to memorize his face, knowing he might never get the opportunity again.

Without warning, the prince pushed himself off the roof. Startled, Erik caught him awkwardly, fumbled with his weight, tripped backwards. They landed hard in the bushes, knocking the wind from Erik. Dazed, he gasped for breath — then froze when the prince’s sweet scent hit him.

He smelled delicious. Most omegas naturally did, but this — this was beyond anything Erik had ever scented before. Perhaps it was because his scent wasn’t muddled by the smell of horses or dirt or any other odors that came of hard labor. Or perhaps this was some kind of enhancing perfume that Erik knew noble omegas used, but had never smelled himself. Whatever it was, he had to resist the powerful urge to bury his face against the prince’s throat and breathe him in.

The prince sat up. “Oh, Erik, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

Erik bit back a groan of disappointment when the prince rolled off him. “I’m fine.” He sat up, too, and dusted himself off. “No harm done.” 

“Good.” The prince brushed a leaf from his hair and glanced around. “What is this place?”

Erik shook off the slight haze the prince’s scent had sent him into. “It used to be a garden for the servants, but they walled it off ages ago when they built a bigger garden on the eastern side of the courtyard. Now it’s mostly forgotten.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, Alex — he’s one of the other squires — he showed it to me. He says…” Erik stopped, flushing.

“Says?”

“Sometimes lovers come here,” Erik muttered, turning away. “So they won’t be seen.”

“Ah.” The prince smiled. “I see.”

There was something soft in his smile, something inviting. Erik thought suddenly that if he leaned in, if he tried to steal a kiss, the prince would let him.

In the grass beside them, the puppy rolled free of the blanket and started to whine piteously. The prince bent to tend to it, and the moment was gone. But Erik spent the rest of the night thinking about it, wondering about it.

Hoping. 

 

III

_first kiss_

They met again in the garden, under another moonless night. Erik clambered onto the roof and over the wall and found the prince already there, his puppy running around in the tangled flowerbeds and snapping at crickets. The prince grinned when he saw Erik and got up.

“I thought you might not come,” he said.

“I thought _you_ wouldn’t come,” Erik replied, still a little amazed that the prince had kept their appointment. Surely princes had more important things to do.

“I had to. The puppy was going stir-crazy in my rooms.”

“Oh.” Of course. The prince hadn’t come specifically to see _him_. Erik quashed an irrational swell of disappointment.

For a while, they sat together in the grass, watching the puppy run herself ragged chasing crickets and shadows. Annoyingly, the moon was hidden again tonight behind thick gray storm clouds, which made it difficult to make out the prince’s face in the dark. They were sitting closely enough that Erik could smell him though, if he really tried. But he didn’t want to be that uncouth alpha who went around crassly sniffing at the air, chasing any attractive scent on the wind. No, his mother had raised him better than that.

After a long silence, the prince said, “Erik, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever kissed anybody?”

Erik’s heart skipped a beat. Heat flooding into his face, he spluttered, “Wh — I — ”

“I’m sorry,” the prince said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He sighed, looking away. “Don’t answer that. It was a stupid question.”

“I…” Erik swallowed hard, then shook his head. “No, I was just…surprised. And I…yes. I have.” He’d had a couple of fumbling encounters with omegas in the past, but he was hardly experienced. Still, he thought he was probably more knowledgeable than the prince.

“Oh,” the prince said. He was silent for another moment. Then, to Erik’s surprise, he shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders touched. “I’d like to ask you something. You can, of course, say no.”

Erik sat very still, breathing shallowly. He thought he had an idea of where this was going. “All right.”

“You must know I’m promised to the king of Genosha,” the prince said quietly. “He’s an alpha I’ve never met, a man nearly twenty years my senior. I’ve been promised to him since I was twelve. I’ve never resented it, it’s always been — a fact of my existence. A duty to be carried out, that’s all. But I’ll be seventeen in five months, and once I come of age…well.” He blew out a short breath. “It’s becoming more real now. In less than a year, I’ll be married. And I want…I’d like for my first kiss to be with an alpha I know. One I like, and trust.” He turned to Erik, his eyes bright even in the darkness. “Does that sound terribly foolish?”

“No,” Erik said faintly, his mouth dry. “It doesn’t.”

The prince smiled hopefully. “Then can I kiss you?”   

Who could say no to that? Erik didn’t think there was a creature in the world who had the power to deny the prince anything he wanted. “Yes,” he whispered.

He held still as the prince leaned forward, paused, considering, and then closed the rest of the distance between them. His mouth pressed against Erik’s gently, hesitantly. Erik inhaled and couldn’t swallow his groan, his head spinning with the prince’s scent. It made him want to drag the prince into his lap and kiss his jaw, bite lightly at his throat where his scent was strongest.

The prince leaned back, gave him a speculative look. Then he kissed Erik again, just as softly, and it was so sweet and gentle that Erik couldn’t help but wrap an arm around his back, tugging him closer.

They kissed a third time. Erik opened his mouth, licking at the prince’s lips, and the prince closed his eyes, swaying forward. When he put a hand on Erik’s chest to steady himself, his touch seared through Erik like a wild flame. Erik breathed him in and knew then that he would never get enough of this, never. 

The prince pulled back slightly, gasping for breath. He stared at Erik, wide-eyed. Heart galloping in his chest, Erik waited for him to say that this had been a mistake, that they shouldn’t have done this. Those were the words he meant to say — _should_ have said. But he didn’t.

Slowly, the prince leaned forward again and kissed Erik’s neck, nosing at the spot under his jaw where his scent was strong. Erik knew — he _knew_ he should push the prince away, stop him now while they could still pretend this had never happened. But then the prince whispered, “Please,” and Erik was utterly, completely lost. 

 

IV

_first confessions_

Erik arrived at the inn first, as always. The room was already paid for, so he went upstairs, slipped in through the narrow door, and closed it behind himself. It was a spare space, boasting only a bed, a small table, and a chair. Hardly any sort of luxury, but Charles had insisted. No one would think to look for them here. Here, they’d be safe.

Two light raps sounded on the door. Erik opened it and stepped back to admit Charles, who was so heavily disguised that he looked more like a misshapen beggar than a prince. Once the door was closed and locked, he pulled off his thick cloak, dropped it on the ground, and jumped on Erik, kissing him soundly.

They staggered back toward the bed, fell onto it. Erik kissed him hungrily, fingers working at the laces of Charles’s vest. It had been nearly two weeks since they’d last seen one another. Between Erik’s squire duties and Charles’s involvement in wedding preparations, they’d hardly been able to find any time to sneak away. And they had so little time left now.

He pushed Charles’s vest off and made short work of the rest of Charles’s clothes. He kissed Charles’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, his chest. Charles tangled his fingers in Erik’s hair, arching up against his warm mouth. Erik sucked on one of his nipples and ran his hand over the lean muscle of Charles’s side, just to feel Charles shiver.

“What do you want?” Erik asked, moving back up to mouth at Charles’s neck. “Tell me what you want.”

Charles shuddered underneath him. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, fingers tightening in Erik’s hair. “Make me feel it. Make me forget.”

There was no need to elaborate — they both wanted to forget the same thing. In four weeks, Charles would turn seventeen. In four weeks, the willfully ignorant bliss of these last few months would be over.

Erik didn’t have to spend long opening him up — Charles was already slick with arousal, his legs spread open invitingly. They both groaned as Erik slid into the tight clench of Charles’s body in one slow, smooth push. Charles clutched at Erik’s nape, gasping against the bare skin of Erik’s shoulder, his eyes shut tight.

“All right?” Erik whispered.

“Yes. Move, Erik, please.”

Erik fucked him slowly then, tenderly, fucked him until he was sobbing for breath, begging for more. His legs tightened around Erik’s waist, urging him on. But Erik wanted to make this last. He wanted, impossibly, for _them_ to last, wanted to keep Charles as his own forever. Shaw couldn’t have him — no, he was _Erik’s,_ only Erik’s, and Erik was his. _That_ was the truth. Nothing else mattered.

He grabbed Charles’s hand, laced their fingers together. Charles bit his lip to muffle a moan as Erik pushed in deeper, rolling his hips. Charles’s cock leaked against their bellies, and he grew even slicker around Erik, so wet that the beginnings of Erik’s knot slipped in without any trouble.

It was stupid to knot Charles. Stupider than fucking him in the first place, stupider than loving him. But outside of heat, the chances of conception were slim, and besides, Charles hadn’t wanted Shaw to be his first knot. He hadn’t wanted Shaw to be his first _anything,_ in the end.

Some part of Erik’s rational brain made him slow his thrusts, made him pull out until his swelling knot was no longer in Charles. “Should I — ”

“Do it,” Charles gasped out. “Please.”

Erik needed no other encouragement — he pushed back into Charles and thrust once, twice, and then groaned low as his knot swelled further, locking them together. Charles arched against him with a broken moan and came, his entire body tightening around Erik. They both moaned again as his orgasm milked Erik to his own climax, cock pulsing as it spilled hot and deep inside Charles.

Afterwards, they lay curled in each other’s arms on the bed, sticky and drowsy. Charles nuzzled Erik’s cheek, kissing his nose, his half-open mouth, his jaw. Erik ran his fingers through Charles’s sweat-damp hair and shifted a little closer so that Charles could pillow his head on Erik’s shoulder.

After a long while, Charles stirred. “Erik?”

“Hmm?”

“This may be…” He hesitated. “No, this _is_. This is selfish of me, and stupid probably. But I want…I just want to say it once.” He pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could look down into Erik’s face. “I love you.”

Erik’s heart leaped, soared. He’d known, of course, or at least suspected, but it was completely different, hearing those words spoken out loud for the first time. He rolled on top of Charles, pinning him down, and kissed him once, twice, again.

Charles laughed and pushed at him, turning his face away. “Stop, stop. You haven’t even said it back yet.”

“Am I supposed to?”

Charles hit his shoulder. “ _Yes,_ you ass.”

Laughing, Erik kissed the side of his mouth and said against his lips, “I love you. Did I really need to say it?”

“I wanted to hear it,” Charles said. His smile slipped away. “Just once.”

Just once. This — this room, this inn, these precious, stolen moments — this was all they would ever have. And in four weeks, they wouldn’t even have this.

Charles’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, gathering Erik close, “please don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Erik said, but his eyes were stinging. He buried his face against Charles’s neck and breathed him in, struggling to calm himself. Struggling to find a way to make the grief hurt less.

“Shh, love,” Charles whispered, stroking Erik’s hair gently. “It’ll be all right.”  

 _No, it won’t!_ Erik wanted to scream, wanted to shake him. _How can you say that? What will I do if I lose you? How can anything ever be all right again if you marry Shaw?_

But what good would yelling at him do? Charles was already scared enough of Shaw, of his impending marriage. Nothing Erik could say would make that better, only worse.

 _It’ll be all right,_ Charles said. For his sake, Erik tried to believe him.

 

V

_first ending_

He woke to the sound of doors banging open and a number of scuffing footsteps in the hall outside. Blearily, he sat up, thinking that some squire had come back from town drunk and belligerent, spoiling for a fight. Voices rose in sharp murmurs, someone barked an indistinct order, and then his door slammed open. Erik threw up his hand automatically to shield his eyes from the sudden glare of a lantern.

“This is him?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

Rough hands seized Erik’s arms. Alarmed, he struggled and kicked out. His foot connected with someone’s leg and they cried out, their grip on his right arm loosening. He yanked free and swung his fist, felt it strike someone’s nose. With a jerk, he managed to pull his other arm free and fell off the bed, reaching for his sword underneath it.

Something struck the back of his head, and he collapsed, stars exploding across his vision. For a moment, he was too dazed and shocked to move. Try as he might, he couldn’t get his hands underneath himself, couldn’t manage to roll over. Someone grabbed him under his arm and hauled him upright. Dizzy and half-blinded by the lantern light, he couldn’t even make out their face.  

“Erik Lehnsherr?” one of them barked.

He shot a disoriented glare in her direction. “Who are you?”

“You’ve been charged with treason to the crown,” she said, her voice clipped. “You’re to come with us.”

 

*

 

They made him watch Charles’s whipping. Thirty lashes in all, each one landing seemingly harder than the last. Lord Marko wielded the whip himself. Later, Erik would find out he had asked for the _honor_.

Erik’s guards had forced him to his knees not even five yards from the whipping post, hands clamped on his shoulders to keep him upright. They would not let him turn away.

The first lash made Erik flinch. By the tenth, he was choking on rage and despair and hot bile. He could smell Charles’s blood from here. He could see Charles shaking, clutching the post for support, his wrists white around the chains that secured him in place. Erik’s head pounded with dizzying fury and terror. Marko was going to kill him at the rate he was going. He was going to whip Charles to the bone.

On the sixteenth lash, Charles’s knees gave way. Erik cried out, straining helplessly against his own chains. “Stop! _Stop!_ ”

Marko flicked him half a glance. “Keep him quiet.”

One of the guards grabbed Erik by his hair and hauled his head back painfully. He shouted furiously until they shoved a gag into his mouth, and then he could only watch, struggling for breath, as Marko brought the whip down again and again, even after Charles had gone slack against the post.

Afterwards, they dragged Erik into a cell and dumped him on the floor. As soon as they unchained him, he hurled himself at the bars, screaming curses and threats, but they ignored him. After he’d calmed down a bit, he begged them to tell him if Charles was all right, if he was alive, but the guards retreated around the corner with their lantern, leaving him in darkness and silence.

Charles was all right. Of course he was all right. He might have been punished for his transgressions but they’d never kill him for it. He was the prince. He would be fine.

Erik on the other hand…

He put his head between his knees and breathed and breathed until it no longer felt like the pressure in his chest would crush him. He knew what would happen to him. There were only so many ways to dispose of a traitor, and none of them would be painless, or quick.   

How had it come to this? How had they been caught? They’d been so careful. They’d done everything right. And yet, somehow, they’d slipped up. Someone had found out. And now…

 _At least Charles will be all right,_ he told himself. _They can’t hurt him too badly._

He refused to think of his own future, short as it may be.

The cell was dark and windowless, making it impossible to tell day from night. Erik didn’t know how long he sat there, knees drawn up to his chest, but the next thing he was aware of was the rapid echoing of footsteps against stone. Lifting his head, he watched a lantern bob closer, then come to a stop just in front of his cell, sending light flooding through the darkness.

A face appeared next to the lantern. Charles’s face.

Erik was on his feet in an instant, clutching at the bars. “Charles?”

The prince swayed on his feet. His eyes were hazy with pain, or perhaps with whatever he had been given to help dull it. He gripped Erik’s hands over the bars and said, “We’re getting you out of here. You’ll go tonight across the river, then to the north. Kurt won’t find you there.”

“Go?” Erik echoed blankly.

“This is Logan,” Charles said, gesturing. For the first time, Erik noticed the man holding the lantern: a tall, gruff, older alpha he had seen around the castle before but never spoken to. “He’s protected me ever since I was a boy. Now he’ll protect you.”

“What are you talking about?” Erik demanded, searching Charles’s face. “I’m not leaving you.”

Charles took one of Erik’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “You’re going. This is the only way I can protect you.”

Erik grabbed his hand. “Come with me. You don’t need to marry Shaw. We can run away together.”

But Charles shook his head, tears in his eyes. “If I go with you, Kurt will never stop hunting us down. No, you have to go alone, you and Logan. He knows the lands up north. He’ll help you.”

“Charles — ”

“Go,” Charles whispered, pressing close to the bars. “I’ll find you. Someday I’ll find you, I promise.”

Erik kissed him. Charles’s mouth tasted like salt and the sharp, bitter tang of medicine. They stole three, four, five feverish kisses through the door, and then Logan growled, “If we’re going to leave, we’ll have to do it now. The guard change will end in a couple of minutes.”

Charles nodded and pulled back. His eyes glimmered with pain and grief. He squeezed Erik’s hand and said, “I love you. Don’t forget that.”

Logan produced a set of keys and unlocked the cell door. Once Erik was free, Charles hugged Logan tightly and whispered, “Thank you, my friend. Keep him safe, and keep yourself safe. Now go.”

They ran. Erik told himself not to look back.

 

VI

_first plans_

In the north, they found work as caravan guards. They traveled the trade route that wound east to west and back, avoiding the King’s Road. By day, they rode beside the wagons they’d been hired to protect, keeping a careful watch out for raiders. By night, they slept under the stars, backs pressed together to ward off the chill of impending winter.

It was a good life, or as near to it as they could come.

Erik waited for Charles, though his rational heart suspected that any waiting would be done in vain. Still, he scanned the horizon every dawn, every dusk, and felt the hollowness in his chest deepen as the days passed without any sign of Charles or even a messenger.   

He and Logan spoke of Charles often. For all that they hadn’t found much to like in each other, they found common ground in their devotion to Charles. Over time, Erik learned that Logan had been Charles’s personal guard for the last fifteen years, and he loved the prince like a son. He’d known about Erik almost from the very beginning; it was he who had helped Charles sneak out of the castle those nights he came to meet Erik in town, he who had covered for Charles on occasions when he’d come back late and been caught out. He cared for Charles as fiercely as Erik did. It was comforting, in a way, knowing they shared the same grief.

Erik spent days and days raging with Logan and with himself, wanting to go back, wanting to steal Charles away, sick with a lurking, unrelenting terror about what was happening to him now that they had left him behind. Going back though would mean certain death — they had been branded outlaws, traitors to the crown, and if they were caught, they’d be killed. Erik couldn’t bring himself to care; he’d lay down his life for Charles in half a second, given the chance. But Logan held him back, shaking sense into him every time he got it in his head to take a horse and ride south.

“What do you expect?” Logan snapped on day when Erik, full of agony and guilt, prepared to ride off after Charles once again. “He’s not _yours_. He never was. He’s Sebastian Shaw’s now, like it or not. So put an end to your fantasy of riding back into Westchester like some fucking hero and claiming him as your own. Shaw is king. Charles is his husband. There’s nothing you can do about that.”

Erik gripped the pommel of his sword so tightly it hurt. He had to resist the urge to tackle Logan out of his seat and punch him again and again until the ache in Erik’s chest eased. “And if he’s suffering?” he gritted out. “If Shaw is just as bad as Marko?”

“Then we’ll figure out what to do,” Logan said. “But not before.”

Part of Erik, the selfish part, wanted Shaw to be terrible. Wanted Charles to hate the man. He felt ashamed of himself for wishing that. _No_ , he thought firmly, _I hope Shaw is a good alpha to him. I hope Charles is happy. I hope they love each other._ It was the kindest future he could think of for Charles.

But it wasn’t long after Shaw’s arrival in Westchester that they began to hear rumors. _Nobility_ and _benevolence_ were foreign concepts to him. He was the kind of king who waged wars against armless civilians, who pillaged the crops and grains of his people for his own use. The kind who levied crippling taxes, who closed ports and roads to starve off his political opponents, whose punishment for dissenters was death, swift and merciless.  

“It would be a mercy for all of Westchester if we killed him,” Erik growled. “Not just for Charles.”

Logan merely grunted in reply.

In the end, it wasn’t Charles who came to find them. One cold morning a group of riders emerged through the trees as Logan and Erik kept watch near the fire. Prepared for bandits, they rose, swords in hand, only to freeze when one of the riders called Erik by name and raised her hand in greeting.

“Who are you?” Erik demanded warily.

Their leader unwound the scarf from her head, revealing a shock of white hair. “My name is Ororo,” she said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

The group of riders revealed themselves as outlaws, branded as traitors by the king and marked for death. They were planning a coup, Ororo told them. They had the support of rebel factions in Genosha, Shaw’s own homeland.

“We know what happened to you,” she said, leaning forward. The light of the campfire flickered fiercely in her eyes. “We know he has your omega.”

The words stabbed into Erik like a knife to the heart.

“He’s not mine,” he said with difficulty, echoing what Logan had said to him only days earlier.

“But you love him all the same.”

It was a statement more than a question and the truth of it reverberated through his bones, straight into his core. He remembered, suddenly, Charles’s face haloed in light, asking him to say those words. He remembered the taste of him, the way he’d laughed as Erik had pressed kisses to his throat.  

Erik nodded.

“Then help us,” Ororo said. “Help us bring Shaw down.”

Erik had already made his decision before she’d finished talking. He didn’t have to look at Logan to know that they were of one mind.

“We know how to get into the castle,” Erik said, clenching his hand more tightly around his sword. “We’ll show you the way.”  

 

*

 

He and Logan entered the city disguised as monks, the lower halves of their faces hidden underneath the traditional, religious cloth masks. Though the castle itself was guarded, the outer courtyard was not. They drifted into the crowd, looking for an opportunity to slip in through the inner gates.  

Before they could, Erik spotted him. He was standing on the other end of the courtyard, flanked on either side by two royal guards as he spoke to some noblewoman in yellow livery. It had been less than a year since Erik had last seen him, but he hardly recognized Charles. Gone was the brightness in his eyes, the casual grin as he talked. His eyes were shadowed, his face unnaturally pale, and he seemed…smaller somehow, like he’d shrunk in the time they’d been apart.

“Charles!”

Charles turned at the sound of his name, then stilled. Fear flickered across his face for a split second before he mastered it, pushed it away. “My lord,” he said demurely, bowing to the newcomer.

The king, Erik realized. Sebastian Shaw was not a big man, but he carried himself with authority and strength. He had an aristocratic face that might have been handsome if it hadn’t been so cold. He smiled icily at Charles and seized his arm, yanking him close. Bending down, he whispered something in Charles’s ear that made Charles’s eyes widen, made him pale even further. By the time Shaw released him, Charles was trembling. When he raised his arm to rub at his wrist, his sleeve slipped down to his elbow, and even from a distance, Erik could see dark, old bruises there, purple and black. 

Rage flooded through his chest, made it impossible to breathe for a moment. He turned to Logan, shaking with fury, and saw that Logan had already seen what he did.

“I’m going to kill him,” Erik swore.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Logan said, grabbing his arm and dragging him away. “Let’s go.”

 

VII

_first blood_

They snuck into the castle under the cover of a moonless night. The years Erik and Logan had spent living here lent them a distinct advantage: they knew most of the secret passageways, and how to avoid the halls the royal guard patrolled at night. It was almost insultingly easy to slip in. 

“We’ll take care of Shaw’s loyalists,” Ororo told them quietly. “You find your prince.”

Erik nodded and wished her luck.

As she took her rebels toward the western wing of the castle, Erik and Logan headed for the king’s chambers. They met no one on the way; it was late evening, and the residential wing was quiet. Still, Erik kept his hand on his sword. He wouldn’t hesitate to use it, not with Charles so close. Nothing and no one could stop him now.  

Two men stood guard at the king’s door, yawning and oblivious. Erik clapped his hand over the mouth of one and slit his throat while Logan dealt with the other. Then, blood-spattered and grimy from their slithering through the castle gardens, they pushed their way inside.

Shaw wouldn’t be here — every evening, he played cards with his favorite sycophants, drinking and smoking and doling out favors in exchange for pledges of loyalty and gifts. Erik and Logan had planned their infiltration carefully. Only Charles would be here, as he was every evening, waiting for Shaw to return.

Erik found him in the smaller parlor, leaning against the frame of the open window. Even gaunt and pale, he was a beautiful sight standing there, his eyes closed and his face still, bathed from head to toe in moonlight. For a moment, all Erik could do was stand there and drink him in, his heart pounding so violently in his chest he thought it might give him away.

“Charles,” he said hoarsely.

Charles went even stiller, but he didn’t open his eyes. A sudden flicker of pain across his face was the only indication he’d heard. Feeling almost like he was floating in a dream, Erik closed the distance between them, reaching out hesitantly. “Charles?”

“No,” Charles said.

Erik faltered.

“No,” Charles said again, stronger this time. “No more of these dreams.”

Erik’s heart nearly broke. “No,” he said, pulling Charles close. “It’s not a dream. I’m here, it’s me.”

Charles opened his eyes and froze, shocked. His throat worked for a moment before he finally managed to whisper, “Erik?” 

He nodded, not trusting his voice. For a second, Charles simply stared at him in disbelief. Then, all of a sudden, his expression shattered open and he threw himself into Erik, gasping in a noise that sounded like a sob. “What are you _doing_ here?” he demanded, shaking against Erik’s chest. “I thought…”  

Somehow Erik mustered up a grin. “You took too long to come find me.”

Charles laughed wetly and buried his face against Erik’s neck. “Oh, darling,” he whispered, “how I’ve missed you.”

 

VIII

_first night_

Shaw tried to stop them. He failed.

“He won’t be buried,” Charles said afterwards, staring down at the bloody, broken body of his husband. “Leave him outside the city for the birds.”

He should have suffered more, Erik thought. He glanced down at his red-streaked sword, still warm with Shaw’s blood. In the heat of the moment, he’d been too hasty. He wished he could take it back now, wished he’d made it last.

But when Charles swayed on his feet, Erik forgot all about killing, about revenge — dropping his sword, he caught Charles in his arms and shouldered his weight. “Charles?”

“Just tired,” Charles murmured, squeezing his arm. “It’s been a long…a long year.”

Erik kissed his sweaty forehead. “Come on.”

By now, the battle for the castle was over. Shaw had been its last casualty, or one of the last at least. Marko was dead, too, along with his son. That was the last of the old regency, cut away. Ororo’s rebels had secured the rest of the castle and were streaming out into the city, chasing fleeing loyalists. By morning, everyone would know that the king was dead.

But that would be in the morning. Now, Charles and Erik made their slow, stumbling way back to the residential wing of the castle. Not to the king’s chambers — no, Charles shuddered at the very suggestion. Instead, he led them to his old rooms, which had been left largely untouched ever since he’d been married. When they pushed the doors open, they found the chambers dark and cold.

Erik beat the dust off the covers before helping Charles lie down in the wide, four-poster bed. Once he had built up a crackling fire in the hearth, flooding the room with heat, Erik joined him, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed.

For a long minute, neither of them spoke. Though Erik had spent every single day of the last eleven months dreaming about this moment, he found that he suddenly had no idea what to say. An odd shyness came over him, and he started to stand up, started to excuse himself.

Charles stirred. “Where are you going?”  

“I…” Erik hesitated and sank back down. “I thought you might want to be alone.”

“Why would I ever want that?” Charles whispered, his eyes pale and exhausted. “I’ve been alone for almost a year now and I can’t stand it any longer.”

Erik _ached_ for him. Crawling onto the bed, he started to pull Charles into his arms — then realized Charles was lying on his front. It was strange enough that he halted, puzzled. Charles hated sleeping on his stomach; he’d always said he found it uncomfortable and irritating.

Then Erik saw the blood seeping through Charles’s shirt at the shoulder. Alarmed, he touched the stain and found it wet, fresh. “You’re hurt.”

Charles’s eyes shuttered. “It’s not serious.”

“Not _serious?_ You’re bleeding! Let me see.”

“No!” Charles jerked back, his eyes wild. For a second, he looked on the verge of stumbling off the bed and bolting for the door, his whole body trembling with tension. Then he seemed to catch himself and flushed deeply, visibly forcing himself to relax. “I’m sorry. It’s just — I’m fine.”

Erik stared at him, torn between the desire to spare his feelings and the need to get a look at him and make sure he was all right. “At least let me dress the wound,” he said finally. “I won’t say anything, just let me see it.”

Charles was silent for a long moment. He looked terribly small there in the corner of his bed, thin and wan, hunched defensively over. But then, all of a sudden, the fight seemed to go out of him in a rush, and he nodded and laid down, his face buried against the pillow.

Apprehensively, Erik moved closer and rucked his shirt up. The sight of Charles’s scarred back made his heart stop.

Some of the lines were old and healed, souvenirs from Charles’s first whipping. But he’d been lashed since then — new wounds crisscrossed across his shoulders, down his back, disappearing under the waistline of his trousers. Some were in the process of healing, while others were still fresh, red and swollen and angry. One particularly vicious cut on Charles’s right shoulder seeped blood, the thin scab broken open.

“What…” Erik whispered, aghast.

“Sebastian,” Charles said tonelessly, his voice muffled by the pillow. “He likes my scars. He likes the whip.” He paused, then amended with a growl, “ _Liked_.”

Erik’s vision pulsed scarlet with rage. He sucked in a shaky breath and released it again, his hands trembling. “I should have made him suffer more.”

“I wish…” Charles clenched one hand into a fist, his knuckles going white. Then he closed his eyes, his eyelashes wet. “No. I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad it’s over with.” He breathed softly for a moment, steadying himself. Then: “Let’s not talk about him anymore.”  

Erik swallowed back his fury. “Of course. Just — lie still. I’ll clean your back.”

It took a little while, but he hunted down a wash basin and a clean cloth. He caught one of Ororo’s rebels passing by in the hall outside and ordered her to bring fresh bandages and some poppy tea if she could find some. She returned with surprising speed, handing him everything he’d asked for and more besides: fresh towels, a bag full of food, a bottle of whiskey.  

“Courtesy of Lady Munroe,” she said, flashing Erik half a salute. “She says to take your time. You’ll be undisturbed, at least until morning.”

Small mercies.

He returned to Charles’s side and washed his back carefully. Charles bit his lip, flinching as Erik worked on the worst cuts, but he didn’t make a sound. He only breathed shallowly through his nose, his eyes fixed on some point on the bed, his fingers clenched in the sheets. Once his back was clean, Erik bandaged him up gently, then gave him the tea.

“Thank you,” Charles said after he’d drained the cup.

“I’ll check the bandages again in the morning,” Erik told him, moving the wash basin and dirty towels off the bed. “But we should get a real physician to look at you.”

Charles exhaled tiredly. “Later.”

“Yes, later.”

Charles turned his head and gave Erik a long, lingering look. His lips twitched in a faint smile. “You look well.”   

Compared to what Charles had been through, the last year’s hardship seemed petty now. Insignificant. Erik said softly, “I missed you. Every single day.”

Charles let out an unsteady breath. “Come here. Please.”

Erik crawled over to him and settled down beside him, careful not to touch his back. But Charles pushed himself into Erik’s chest heedlessly, burying his face against Erik’s throat. After a moment, he started to shake, and when Erik felt wetness against his neck, he realized Charles was crying.

“I was so afraid you were dead,” Charles whispered. “Shaw told me you were dead, you and Logan both. But I knew he would have shown me your bodies if he had them. That was the only thing keeping me going, knowing you had gotten away.”

Erik pushed his nose into Charles’s hair. He smelled like another alpha — smelled like _Shaw_ — but Erik fought down the automatic snarl that rose to his lips. Shaw would never touch Charles again. He took fierce comfort in that fact, and hoped Charles did, too.

“You should get some rest,” he said, kissing Charles’s temple. “There will be much to do in the morning.”

Charles sighed, nestling closer into Erik’s arms. “You’ll stay?”

“Of course.”

 

IX

_first dawn_

Erik woke first, blinking blearily as the first rays of sunlight began to slant in through the windows. In his arms, Charles slumbered on, his breathing soft and easy against Erik’s shoulder. At this angle, Erik could see the marks he had left on Charles last night, scattered across the pale, lovely line of Charles’s neck. The sight of them made Erik shiver in quiet satisfaction.

He ran his hand slowly down Charles’s bare back. Three years on, most of his scars had faded, though some remained raised and thick. At least they no longer pained Charles constantly. He moved much more easily these days, thanks to his physician’s rigorous therapy. In time, McCoy had said, the rest of the scars might fade, too.

Erik pressed a kiss to Charles’s shoulder, then another to the back of his neck. By the time he started to nip at Charles’s ear, Charles stirred, turning in his arms. He blinked over at Erik owlishly for a long moment, then broke into a slow, brilliant smile.   

“How does it feel?” he asked. “Being married to royalty?”

Erik nuzzled his jaw languidly. He was still sore from how much dancing they’d done last night at the wedding, and from their tender lovemaking afterwards. “Better than I imagined. How does it feel, being married to a lowborn knight?”

“Excellent.” Charles rolled them so he was on top of Erik, his weight comfortable and pleasant on Erik’s chest. “Wonderful. Spectacular.”

Erik snorted. “Now I’m starting to doubt your sincerity.”  

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He spent the next five minutes proving his sincerity with several very thorough, delicious kisses.  

For a while, they lay quietly in bed, limbs tangled together. Charles stroked a hand through Erik’s hair and smiled, glancing toward the window. “Have you ever seen such a beautiful morning?” 

In lieu of an answer, Erik pulled him down and kissed him, then kissed him again, then again. Charles laughed and kissed him back happily, and they lost themselves in lazy, slow lovemaking.

Charles was right — it was a beautiful morning.  


End file.
